


High as a Kite

by darksquall



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avenger Kink, Avengerskink, Clint is high, Cuddly Clint, Kink Meme, M/M, Oh Dear, Poor Clint, Poor poor poor Clint, Snarky Clint, sleepy Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksquall/pseuds/darksquall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce goes on a mission for SHIELD and his guard is injured in the process while trying to protect him. A promise made while waiting for for the extraction team is kept a little more intensely than Bruce ever expected and soon he and Tony have a house guest. (Bruce/Tony growing relationship, hints of Bruce/Clint and potential for Tony/Bruce/Clint) Warnings for Language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High as a Kite

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and places contained herein do not belong to me and I am making no money from this.
> 
> With many thanks to Lanapanda for betaing for me again. 
> 
> This is a fic written for the Avengers Kink meme ( http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/11264.html?thread=27230720 ) 
> 
> Prompt: Clint is injured, not so badly that he isnt still trying to wander around the tower, but badly enough that he is on some pretty strong pain meds. The thing is, Clint has a fairly strong reaction to the drugs, so instead of the snarky sarcastic assassin they are used to, the team is faced with a far softer, sweeter, sort of loopy, sleepy, touchy hawkeye. 
> 
> (Would like to see team reactions so happy for GEN, but equally happy with any pairing (though im not super keen about clint/natasha))

Bruce wasn't the kind of man who would blame others for his problems or his mistakes. He never really had been. He was all too eager to blame himself much of the time whether it was his fault or not, but this time he really was responsible for what happened.

He'd known the dangers when he'd agreed to let SHIELD use him as bait to lure out some members of the group known as HYDRA - and he was getting very tired of acronyms and false names now as well; these places had entirely too high a budget for their marketing departments for supposedly secret world affecting entities- but he'd known that it was important too, and that he would be helping people if he agreed. Probably more people than he'd ever be able to help hiding somewhere away from SHIELD. Fury himself had taken the time to promise that he'd be safe and that it'd just be a few nights away from home. Let some HYDRA agents think that he was vulnerable, maybe propose or coax his assistance. There'd be eyes on him the whole time so if anything was going sour, someone would intervene.

Someone on the inside of SHIELD had shared a little too much information with their targets though. Adrenal inhibitors and some major sedatives had left him entirely too vulnerable for either his safety or the safety of those that were the eyes on him.

Hawkeye had been the guard assigned to him. If there had been others, Bruce wasn't aware of them and hadn't seen them, but Hawkeye he knew and had seen. That was deliberate on Hawkeye's part, he suspected - Barton was just too good to let himself be observed otherwise. Even for a man of Bruce's sometimes epic levels of paranoia.

HYDRA's meeting place had been somewhere that a man of Hawkeye's speciality had extremely limited options to take down his enemies from his usual distance - that also increased Bruce’s suspicions that someone hadn't just been giving out the information that Fury had meant to leak. Even if they were well informed, the bad guys were usually cocky enough from the stories he'd heard to try and balls it out. Not these guys, though. They'd forced Hawkeye to come down from his perch and fight in close quarters.

Sedatives and adrenal inhibitors were a dangerous combination for Bruce and the other guy. The gamma in his blood would burn through sedatives faster than normal humans, but they still slowed him down. If he hadn't been close to changing when the dart with the cocktail of drugs had hit him, he would have been out cold by the time he heard Hawkeye yelp in pain. He wouldn't have heard that; he wouldn't have been able to drag himself to one of the fallen enemy agents in the dank little abandoned office and relieve them of their weapon, nor would he have been able to lift that gun and put a bullet in the last man standing.

When the echo of gunfire faded away, and the last HYDRA agent had crumpled into a heap, Bruce set the gun down and wiped his hand on his shirt, as though it had somehow contaminated him. He didn't like to kill people. He hated coming back from a transformation and finding out just how much damage he'd done to people’s lives as the Other Guy. This time, he didn’t even have the cold comfort of it being the Other Guy who had caused the damage, but he owed Barton for letting them both be led blindly into this trap. 

"You still alive out there, Hawkeye?" he called, his mouth feeling as though it were filled with cotton wool as he tried to get the words out. He stared up at the ceiling, expanded polystyrene tiles that had once been a greyish white, now covered here and there with unpleasant looking black mould. Good thing he couldn't die, this place was damned lethal. 

The lights had long since stopped working, their reflectors and frames hanging at odd angles, wires trailing uselessly in long, vine-like loops from the gaps behind them. There was some light that came in through the broken windows where the boards had been torn down or had fallen off of their own accord. The late afternoon light was oddly distant, and came in at odd angles through the board and had left them fighting in semi-darkness.

There was just silence for too long. Bruce had just started to drag himself into a sitting position to go and find Barton when a familiar voice finally piped up "If I'm not, then hell looks like an office cubicle. ...Maybe I really am dead."

Bruce focused on Barton's voice, not sure whether it was the drugs still running rampant through his own system or Barton's injuries that made him sound as though he were further away than he should have been. Either way, hearing that voice made it easier to drag himself to his feet and stumble through into the wider office away from the central partitioned office space that he'd been holed up in with the Hydra agents. "Marco."

"Polo," Barton responded, laughing briefly before it trailed off into an audible wince.

Bruce leaned on the chest high standing partitions as he passed them, heading for the direction that he thought that Barton's voice was coming from. It was hard to tell for sure which way he was supposed to be going and the world was beginning to darken. He could already tell that he was having longer blinks.

In the end, he almost tripped over Barton as he rounded a corner. He was sprawled against another of those cubicle walls and he'd scattered dusty papers all over when he'd fallen. Blood oozed from a wound somewhere in his right shoulder and Barton had his hand over it, trying to staunch the flow but still it was a lot of blood to lose. 

"Fuck," Bruce breathed and sank to his knees gratefully. "Call for some back up, Hawkeye."

Having that to focus on, having Barton right there in front of him to give him a reason to keep moving and to keep his eyes open helped. If only for a little while. He pulled the all too meagre medical kit that Hawkeye carried with him as part of his standard SHIELD gear and packed the wound enough to slow the flow of blood to a trickle. At least given the background noise of Barton calling for an extraction and a medical team gave Bruce some hope that they'd both be out and safe as soon as Fury's team could arrive.

With the bandage tied in place, Bruce focused on Barton's eyes sleepily. It was getting harder to concentrate, what little adrenaline had helped him fight off the urge to rest for this long ebbing away more with each passing moment. It was good that he hadn't changed. Good that he hadn't become the Hulk, for once. Bruce Banner had been needed more than the Hulk. Although, if he'd been able to change, he probably wouldn't have left Hawkeye in such a vulnerable position in the first place.

"Doc," Barton's voice snapped and Bruce blinked at him, trying to focus on his face. Had he lost his glasses somewhere along the way? Barton looked quite... well fuzzy, and he was close enough that Bruce would need his glasses to make out the finer details of his features. The soft shift of colours in his eyes, for example. "It's not your fault; I should have stopped them before they even made it in here."

Bruce covered his mouth. Had he said any of that out loud? Oh that wasn't good. If the drugs were getting to him that much, then sleep was definitely not far away and the extraction team weren't there yet. He couldn't sleep without knowing that Barton and he were safe. That no one else would get hurt because of him. "Sorry," he said, making sure he knew he was talking this time, enunciating each word with great care and digging his nails into his palm. Just the tiniest bite of pain to break through the haze. "I don't know what they dosed me up on but it's really kicking my ass."

"I'll tell the team to find whatever they hit you up with," Barton took Bruce's hand and squeezed it gently. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

"Just... need somewhere between eight and ten hours sleep," Bruce pushed his glasses up into his hair - oh good, he hadn't lost them yet again, and Tony wouldn't give him the teasing smile when he had to go make some more in the fabrication lab. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, trying not to yawn aloud. "Y... y'r shoulder'll be fine. Think the bullet broke..." he knew the term but it danced out of his grasp. "It broke a bone but you'll heal up okay," Bruce squeezed his eyes shut one last time and tried to make himself focus on Hawkeye when he opened them again. Then he remembered to pull his glasses down to help with that.

"Thanks," Barton gave him a smile that was obviously forced. His arms were his life, Bruce knew that. An archer in this kind of business? Someone with the talent for trajectories and dynamic mathematics that Barton had? His arms, his shoulders, his hands were his life and with his current injuries not only was he going to be in pain, he was going to be off the field for weeks. Perhaps months. "You're okay, you know, Doc."

"Call me Bruce, please," Bruce smiled. At least, he thought he was smiling. At this point he was half sure he was floating on the ceiling too, so he wasn't entirely sure his frame of reference was spot on. "And I'd argue that I'm not quite okay but I'm close enough."

"What happened to the last one?" Barton asked, his off hand moving absently to his gun. Was he ambidextrous with his weapons? Bruce thought it probably best not to ask since he was in no fit state to argue. And Barton was starting to look seriously pale now. Enough that Bruce had to check that bandage. All seemed well, but again, his frame of reference was skewed so badly he wasn't sure that he wasn't missing something obvious.

"Shot him."

Bruce interpreted Barton's look as sceptical. Dazed, but sceptical. "You shot him? You."

"I remembered which end of the gun goes bang, pointed that at him and pulled the trigger. Enough have been fired at me that I can tell the direction they're supposed to go." Bruce leaned back against the wall of the cubicle, letting his eyes drop closed. "At least 95% of the time."

"Bruce. Stay with me," Barton's voice had an edge of desperation that hadn't been there before. "Come on."

"Trying. I'll stay with you if you stay with me, Barton."

"Deal," Barton held his hand out on his good side. It took Bruce a couple of attempts to reach for it and shake it, but he managed it at last. Barton's smile was a little more real this time. "Call me Clint."

"I'll try to remember that when I'm conscious," Bruce gave Clint a smile in return. "Don't hate me if you have to remind me."

"Try not to," he nodded. He’d probably had experience with that before – Bruce could certainly attest that military brass types would forget your name if you weren’t in their direct line of sight or didn’t happen to be a giant green monster most of the time.

The radio crackled into life, someone calling out words that didn't make much sense - Bruce assumed that it was code, something to warn Hawkeye - no, Clint, he should stop thinking of him as a codename if Clint was willing to share his name like that - that they were coming in so he wouldn't attack them. Clint's hand moved to his gun and he changed the clip one handed to a fresh one. That had happened entirely too easy - how many times had he had to practice that, or do it in the field?

Well at least Bruce wasn't the only one paranoid about SHIELD. People like that always made him uncomfortable, knowing that Clint would react in a similar way even though they were his people. Probably. Maybe. It wouldn't have been hard to get the frequency of the radio with how long they'd been still.

Then a familiar female voice broke through the male ones. "What am I going to do with you, Clint?"

Clint sighed and almost sagged with relief, laying the gun down on his stomach. His hand moved to the comms button and he pressed it to send a message. "What's life without a little adventure, Nat?"

He could practically hear the smile in her voice. "Too boring for us."

Bruce assumed he was still listening to code words and phrases, something set up by Hawkeye and Black Widow before the mission. Long before in fact, it came with entirely too much practised ease to ever be something recent. The world was still melting away, however, and Bruce could barely keep his eyes open any more. As the SHIELD agents entered, along with the owner of that familiar female voice, Bruce looked at Clint sleepily. "Mind if I pass out now?"

"Go ahead, D...Bruce. I'll see you when you wake up."

They were still holding hands. Bruce felt Clint's fingers squeeze his just once, reassuringly, and he barely had the time or the strength to squeeze back before he gave in to the darkness and passed out at last.

 

 

Bruce heard voices.

They seemed so far away at first, in the distance somewhere that he couldn't reach or particularly care about, floating at the edge of consciousness with that comfortable disconnected feel. He was alive, he knew that much, and he hadn't had a transformation he was pretty sure. His limbs felt heavy, but his skin didn't burn and crackle with radioactive fire like it did after any transformation.

He came to realise things slowly. The first was that he had a pounding headache, which was followed by related facts - his mouth was dry and he was both thirsty and hungry, all of which must have contributed to the first fact. The next thing he realised was that he could hear Tony Stark.

"You really need to stop bringing strays home, big guy."

Strays? He'd bought a stray home? Bruce rattled through the events he could remember before finally opening his eyes. "Stray?" he echoed, groping blindly for his glasses. Tony caught his hand gently and pressed them into his palm.

With the glasses on, Bruce could at least see Tony's wicked grin and the way his eyes sparkled. He was teasing. That was how Tony spent around 50% of his time when alone with Bruce though so it would have been a pretty good bet that he would have been teasing no matter what. That rate only increased around other people. "Little birds with broken wings," Tony gestured to the window.

Bruce turned his head, not remembering any birds at first. Then he saw the silhouette of Clint Barton in the window seat, his knees pulled up and his face set in a scowl.

"I'm not a stray, or a bird, and less of the little Stark. We're the same height when you're not in Cuban heels," his expression softened just the faintest bit when he turned his attention to Bruce. "Anyway, he's awake now so I can do the debriefing and leave."

"See what I have to put up with for you," Tony nudged Bruce lightly. "And I didn't even start on the angry birds or arrow to the knee jokes."

Clint actually growled. Bruce covered his face with one hand and tried not to laugh. He didn't succeed, but he did manage to muffle it somewhat. "Water. Coffee. Anything," he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. Things were coming back to him, the office building with the hell cubicles and men with a really fucked up subscription to the history channel. He'd been sedated and Clint had been... Bruce sat bolt upright, nearly head-butting Tony in his urgency. "Your shoulder."

Tony picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and wrapped Bruce's fingers around it carefully. "Here's the water, I'll go and make coffee, but if you want Legolas' shoulder, I'm afraid you're on your own." Tony brushed his fingers lightly through Bruce's hair, just enough to smooth the curls back, then he turned on his heel and headed out, presumably to make coffee. 

Bruce had come to expect various epiphanies from Tony when they were working together, not always ones that he would share or know until later, but they'd become comfortable working with one another in that regard. The fact that Bruce and Clint needed time alone seemed to be one of these. 

"My shoulder's fine," Clint shook his head, turning in the window seat. In fact, his shoulder was so “fine” that his arm was cradled in a sling, and he was looking decidedly pale. He’d changed clothes since Bruce had last seen him, no longer wearing his mission outfit – now just wearing a sweater and a pair of black jeans. He had a leather jacket loosely slung over his shoulders, and the sling of course. "But I promised I'd stay with you."

Clint had stayed for him. Clint had kept that silly little promise that they’d made in a broken down office building while subjecting themselves to ridiculous levels of mouldering office furniture and he’d been in pain and bleeding out. That meant a lot to him, so he smiled up at Clint and finally took a sip of water. He couldn't help making a faint sound at the relief it brought. He was still disoriented - he couldn't quite tell what time it was from the light outside - and Tony's windows filtered sunlight oddly, so it was difficult to say for sure whether it was morning or afternoon. Definitely not night. "Thank you, Clint."

Clint gave the briefest smile Bruce thought he'd ever seen. "Anyway..."

"How's your shoulder, really?" Bruce pulled the blanket off and rolled to the side of the bed gingerly. The headache was still there, fortunately a little quieter now that he'd had at least something to drink, but his throat still felt dry. A combination of sleeping for too long and the drugs. He couldn't help rubbing his temples as he tried to put aside the throbbing and find some semblance of coherency.

"Operated this morning, while you were out. Clavicle was the word you were looking for, some joint damage too," Clint fussed with the edge of his sling absently. He was uncomfortable with being asked, and just as uncomfortable with the response. "Screwed a plate on the bone but I'm still going to be out of the field for two months minimum."

"I'm sorry," Bruce shook his head. Things were still a little fuzzy, a little hazy. He was a thousand times better than what little he remembered of when he'd passed out, but he still felt a little disconnected. "I should have..."

"Don't," Clint shook his head and winced, his off hand coming to his injured shoulder in reflex.

Before he quite knew it, Bruce was on his feet and at Clint's side. "Didn't they give you any painkillers?" he asked; his voice soft and cautious. He wasn't a spy or a master assassin, and although his knowledge of physiology and anatomy was on a par with world class surgeons, he never had officially gotten the medical degree to go with it. Regardless, he knew when someone was in pain. He made a minor adjustment to the sling, taking a little more weight off Clint's shoulder to ease the discomfort when he moved, but really he needed painkillers for at least a few days. Anti-inflammatory drugs - anything to keep the swelling down and speed up the healing process.

"Yeah but I don't like taking them. Especially when I'm on my own," Clint edged away from Bruce an inch or two, caution steeling his expression.

"You're here; you're not on your own."

"I'm only here because I promised I wouldn't leave you along while you were out, that's all," Clint looked away. He just about managed not to roll his eyes while Bruce was watching but it was a close run thing. "I'm going as soon as I've debriefed you."

"Going where?" Tony was back, with a tray in his hands. Three mugs of coffee, a sugar bowl, a pot of cream. Sometimes it was almost odd how Tony could predict the perfect moment to interrupt or walk into a room, but then he had the entire building monitored by JARVIS so there was every possibility that he'd been listening in. "Going back to the helicarrier? Come on, Barton, you said you wanted to stay with Bruce, stay a little longer. I can guarantee the beds here are more comfortable than anything you could find back there."

"Stay here," Clint repeated, almost incredulously. "You want me to stay here and do... what exactly?"

"Help me keep an eye on Bruce while I run samples of the lovely crap they dosed him up with - seriously Bruce, I have no idea what they hit you with. Me? I'm almost entertained," Tony bought the tray over. He talked a mile a minute at the best of times and, from his expression - the light in his eyes, the twitch of a grin at the corner of his mouth, the slight bounce to his step - Tony was enjoying himself immensely. He'd been handed a puzzle to figure out and Bruce was getting a little lost for once. 

Bruce didn't have all the variables so it was hard to keep up with everything all at the same time. "Yes, stay here, Clint. Wait, Tony - what do you mean?" He took one of the mugs as soon as Tony laid the tray down, adding just a little cream and sugar before he sipped it. He didn't usually bother with the sugar but at that moment he felt like he needed it. "And how long have I been out?"

"A little over twenty hours," Tony shrugged.

"Twenty hours, seventeen minutes," Clint corrected, reaching for a mug too. He didn't bother adding anything, just started sipping it straight away. From the faint sigh of relief, Bruce assumed that Clint had needed that too.

"See, this is why I want you to stick around - your observation skills are excellent, and you'll fit in well around here," Tony went to pat Clint's shoulder, thought better of it and patted the top of his head instead, earning a glare in return. "Also, Bruce wants you to stick around, so that helps too."

"Twenty hours," Bruce echoed. He'd never been out that long on one dose. Even the doses that had been enough to fell the Hulk, everything he'd dealt with before had needed topping up regularly to keep him pliant and quiet and unable to transform. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been out for more than ten hours on one hit.

Clint was still glowering at Tony. Bruce could swear he saw the daggers in the line of his gaze. "And seventeen minutes."

"Yes, yes and seventeen minutes. So SHIELD gave me a small sample of what they hit you with - I suspect they'll be running their own samples but better SHIELD than Ross," Tony shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"And it's an unusual compound," Bruce pushed for more detail, coaxing the mug out of Clint's hand gently and looking down to fix him with a glare even more powerful than that one he himself had used on Tony. "Take your painkillers, Clint. Stay here and you won't have to be on your own while you're taking them."

"Twenty hours on one dose even if it was kind of heavy? It's damned unusual. But we'll figure it out, we always do." Tony shrugged. "Oh painkillers. Yes, stay here and we'll take care of you; you and Bruce can keep an eye on each other because he's still working it off - his reaction speeds are still down by between 62% and 45%. I can get back to the lab and start breaking the sample down. Win, win... and win."

Clint looked up at Bruce, then at Tony. Finally he sighed and pulled a nondescript pharmacy bottle out of his back pocket and popped the top. "Fine, but you'll kick me out before they wear off, I bet." He tapped a couple of pills out onto his leg and recapped the bottle before he took them, dry.

"Almost disappointed that SHIELD doesn't have cooler med bottles, aren't you, Bruce?"

Bruce chuckled and offered Clint his coffee back. "No, it'd get them caught if they were taking medication on an undercover job, right Clint?"

"Right," Clint said, taking his mug of coffee back gratefully when Bruce offered it. Bruce was cursing whatever of the drugs was left in his system internally because some things were still difficult to spot and contend with. He was only really just noticing how uncomfortable Clint seemed with the attention, especially when Tony was in the room. Tony had that effect on a lot of agents though; the only one who really seemed comfortable in dealing with him constantly was Natasha. Hell, Tony had that effect on normal people too. He dazzled the best of them - and Bruce liked that. He liked how bright and confident and Tony Stark that Tony could come across at the drop of a hat, even if he wasn't feeling like that bright and confident and Tony Stark person on the inside. He'd seen the real Tony more than anyone ever had and he'd only been hanging around the tower for a few months.

Clint was much more comfortable in his own skin than Tony had ever been, but he didn't like people to look at him, to see through him or see him. Especially Tony who was used to being the center of attention twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. When it had been the two of them, both on the mission and before Tony had returned to the room, Clint had seemed much more at ease. Then again, Bruce was the kind of man who preferred not to be in the spotlight too. He'd been on the run long enough to find ways to fade into the background, from his words to his posture and even his clothes. Tony had just happened to sweep all that aside and drag Bruce into the light when he needed it. Clint was much more content to just let him stay in the shadows.

"Bruce." Tony nudged him gently, looking concerned. Even if he could dazzle and sparkle and generally be the showman every waking moment of the day, Tony still had more of a heart than most people Bruce had dealt with during his time with the Avengers initiative. Even now, Bruce still sometimes felt like Tony was the only one who actually wanted him around. "Maybe you should lie down for a while, you're still zoning out a little."

Bruce couldn't deny that he was still tired. The coffee had helped, but standing there, his limbs felt heavier with every passing moment. "I think I will. Still tired... share your results with me whenever you get them though, I'm curious too."

"You going to be willing for me to take a blood sample? I'll destroy it afterwards and clear the records down, of course," Tony's hand rested on his shoulder. Reassurance. Human contact, of which he'd had so little since the events that had made him a monster. Certain paranoias were harder to break than others. Bruce knew that there was always a chance that someone would be able to reverse engineer the mutation in his DNA that allowed himself and the Hulk to continue to exist in one reasonably stable body. It would take someone with an intellect the level of Tony's or his own to do that - and it was why he was so reluctant to let people get close enough to gather samples or data from him. "I just want to make sure that you're processing it okay and we don't have to worry."

"Of course," he nodded. "Mind if I sit down first?"

"Go, sit, I'll grab the kit and be right back," Tony was already starting towards the door. He just couldn't keep still when there was both a show to put on and science to play with. "Keep an eye on him Cupid," he called back.

Clint was quiet, just watching. He spent his whole life watching and waiting, so Bruce tried not to be phased. It was difficult though. "You two always like this?" he asked as Bruce finished the coffee and set the mug down.

"Like what?"

"Like..." Clint gestured between where Tony had been standing and where Bruce was still standing with his mug of coffee. "Touchy."

"Tony's always like that, I don't mind." Bruce moved back to the bed, sitting down. At least whoever had put him to bed had left him clothed - just taken his belt and his shoes to make him comfortable. "Mostly when people know who I am they're afraid to touch me."

"Think you're still radioactive," Clint stayed curled where he was, watching Bruce with his head tipped to one side just a little. Examining, judging distances and placements. The same way he and Tony would look at an invention and try to break it down between them. "You're not, right?"

"My blood is. Short of a transfusion though that's not going to be a problem," Bruce forced a smile, trying not to dwell on how painful and tight that expression felt on his lips. Forever the monster, forever the creature to be hated and feared because it was in every single cell, every strand of DNA - it was almost as though his father had known, calling him monster for years. "If anything can make me bleed enough to be a threat, it'll turn me into the other guy. But I'm safe to touch and be around."

"If you weren't, Fury would have at least told us enough to protect ourselves," Clint leant against the wall, closing his eyes. "I really hate these things."

"Things?" Bruce echoed, concerned.

"Damn pills," Clint shook his head. "I hate the way the make me feel."

"Ohh... and how do they make you feel?"

"Disconnected... floaty. Kinda weird," Clint shook his head and his gaze snapped to the doorway.

Tony came back through it seconds later, holding the kit to take the blood samples. He was perhaps a little less bouncy than he had been before, a little more sedate and serious - Bruce was kind of thankful for that. Other people drawing his blood still made him feel odd and worried. That was more of a danger now than ever, the reactions and his mental state were more stable than they'd ever been, and he suspected - though he hadn't quite had the heart to investigate - that the reaction in his blood had stabilised too. He suspected that it would be easier than ever to create a controlled "Hulk" reaction, one that wouldn't leave the subject entirely mindless from him as he was now. He'd never mentioned it to Tony, or anyone else. He had been careful to stay under the radar and hide so that such things would remain hidden, and so that he wouldn't wind up on the wrong side of the microscope.

"Must be the good stuff if you feel like that already," Tony mused, sitting down on the bed beside Bruce. "Why are you even still on the windowsill? As soon as I've taken this, Bruce, take him to crash on the couch if he won't lie down."

Bruce looked away when Tony took the blood sample. Focusing on Clint again, in fact, still curled up in the window seat. Once he'd thought nothing of needles and samples and injections when it came to his own body. Now they made him feel... less than okay. Better to focus on Clint and his slightly unfocused look. "Okay. I need to eat too, I still feel a little dizzy and I'm hoping that's just hunger."

"Order in, so you won't have to stand up and cook," Tony taped a small piece of cotton gauze over the needle site when he'd taken a large enough sample to work with. He settled the glass vial in a protective sheath on the tray - lead lined, Bruce suspected, to prevent the radiation messing with some of the more sensitive equipment in Tony's lab for too long - and stretched. "Get me something too and send it down to the lab, I'm going to be there for a couple of hours at least."

"You sound so disappointed by that," Clint observed dryly. "I'm sure it's been a terrible chore."

Tony grinned and glanced at Clint briefly before returning his focus to Bruce. "I like him. Can we keep him?"

"And to think you told me not to bring strays home."

"This one is fun though. At least he snarks back... and doesn't inject me without warning like his friend," Tony mused rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Bruce finally noticed that Tony hadn't shaved. He usually took such pride in that, making sure his beard was trimmed to the precise length he preferred, making sure his cheeks were completely free of stubble - he must have been up all night. Or at least since SHIELD had notified him of what had happened. "I'm sure I can think of something to do with a guy who can calculate projectile trajectories and see like he can."

"I'm not wearing harem pants," Clint grumbled. "Not again anyway."

That got Tony's attention in a heartbeat. Bruce's too to be honest, but Bruce wasn't the type of person to ask for more details. Especially not if it wasn't forthcoming or details that were needed regarding a medical or scientific emergency. 

"Okay that? That I want to hear the story on," Tony physically turned his body to Clint, enraptured by the idea or the thought that he might get more detail. Showing his interest in his body language. Tony could do a dozen things at once and still have time to make a Cuba libre or flirt with whoever was nearest, to focus on someone and give them all of his attention like that was rare. It was probably because of the drugs, deliberately making himself look interested for Clint's slowed reactions and worries. "So, harem pants?"

Bruce wasn't entirely sure which was more fun for Tony - finding these things out or chasing people down to make them talk.

"I had a mission to watch a guy who had a fetish for European history. He made me wear harem pants while I wasn't playing Robin Hood for him." Clint rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and sighed. "Maybe harem pants are better than tights though."

"I'm getting all sorts of interesting mental images here," Tony shook his head briefly. "Why harem pants? Why not just the tights all the time?"

"I dunno, but it was good because tights chafe. He had this big harem for all of us toys," Clint gestured with his good arm and almost smacked his hand on the wall. Bruce winced. Okay - definitely time to get Clint to move, somewhere he couldn't hurt himself. "He was weird. Like... weird weird, not just general bad guy weird."

"Did you have a little cap with a feather and all?" Tony was giving Clint his rapt attention; leaning forwards, as though being closer to Clint would get him the details faster. More interesting body language, more demonstrations of his eagerness.

"Yeah. It was a cardinal feather, he got pissy with me when I pointed out they didn't have those in England. Or bluebirds," Clint shook his head, dragging himself to his feet a little unsteadily. "He shouldn't have given me a real bow if he didn't want me to shoot him though."

Tony laughed, bumping against Bruce and grinning at him. "If they're all this fun, you can bring home strays any time." He picked up the kit and went to Clint's side, taking his good arm gently. "Come on, Robin; let's get you to the couch."

"If I'm Robin, are you Batman?"

"Oh no, I'm way sexier than Batman, no matter who's playing him," Tony glanced back at Bruce and inclined his head in invitation. Bruce nodded, pushing himself into a standing position again and following them. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him - and the sample hadn't even been that big, dammit, he shouldn't have reacted so badly - and he had to lean against the doorway for a moment before following.

Clint was quiet and thoughtful until they reached the living room, finally saying what he'd been considering all the way there. "And at least your suit doesn't have nipples."

"I was almost tempted, but I thought they might sue me for copyright infringement;” Tony joked and settled Clint on the couch gently, with more care than he would have showed most people. Then, when he was sure their guest was safe, he turned to Bruce. "Call me if you need anything or if you feel worse," he said, cupping Bruce's cheek and giving him a stern look. "I mean it, big guy."

"I know," Bruce covered Tony's hand with his own briefly, smiling openly. "Go on, go figure out what they did to me this time, and I'll see about getting Cupid to eat too."

"You guys have way too many nicknames for me already," Clint watched the two of them nonchalantly, as though he observed Iron Man and the Incredible Hulk being tender with each other every day. Then again that was entirely possible given Fury's habit of spying on his people. "Cupid, Robin, Legolas, little bird. If you call me Merida I will hurt you both."

"Merida?" Bruce echoed.

"Okay that one I need to Google."

Clint covered his face with his good hand. "Fuck, why did I say that?"

"Maybe because you're high as a kite. Which is appropriate," Tony grinned at him, ran his fingers through Bruce's hair gently and sighed. "Okay, lab time. Send me some food down, and I'll see you later."

Bruce smiled for Tony. "Have fun."

"Don't I always?"

With that, Tony was gone. He cheerfully disappeared off to the lab and Bruce sat down on the couch near Clint. He sank into the cushions - Tony's couch was incredibly comfortable. One night, he'd been talking to Tony after a long day while sitting on it, the next thing he'd known, it was light, he had a blanket and Tony's head was pillowed on his thigh while he slept too. Bruce liked Tony's couch a lot. "JARVIS, can you bring me up a screen?"

"Certainly sir," the gentle British voice was always ambient, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. A virtual screen popped up in front of him and when he lifted his hand, blue dots appeared on his fingers. Tony and he had tracked his movements and gestures to the set ups in the labs, but it was a little more informal in the living room and bar area, and usually when he was there Tony was with him, so they'd never gotten around to it. He pulled up a list of the take out places that they usually used and was about to ask what Clint wanted to eat when Clint beat him to speaking.

"So... how long have you two been fucking?"

"What?" Bruce looked at him, surprised. Well, it wasn't like Tony was hiding his affection, so that wasn't the surprising part. The surprising part was that Clint was that high and had still noticed. "We're not."

"Right. He plays with everyone's hair and does the longing looks and face stroking all the time," Clint shuffled in place, trying to pull his jacket off without disturbing his damaged shoulder too much. From the wince and the way he froze in place suddenly, Bruce knew he hadn't managed it. He reached over to help Clint gently, coaxing the jacket off his shoulders and folding it to rest it over the back of the couch. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. We're not fucking, we're just... seeing where things go," Bruce shrugged. They weren't fucking. They had slept together, many times in the purely platonic sense, and he'd fallen asleep with Tony both on the couch and in the lab, not to mention the bed, but they hadn't gone any further than a few kisses for the moment. "Anyway, he ruffled your hair too."

"He did?"

"Mm, right before you took the pills."

"That was more of a head pat. Not a ruffle. And he doesn't ruffle your hair anyway; he strokes it like a lover." Clint closed his eyes, running his good hand through his hair and sighing.

"What are you in the mood to eat, Clint?" Bruce asked, changing the subject. He didn't mind people knowing, and if Tony was doing things like touching his hair and stroking his arm in front of Clint, then he assumed Tony was okay with it too. Or banking on Clint not remembering much of what had happened.

For a moment, Clint looked as though he'd drifted off. His breathing was soft, even and slow, his eyes were closed and his mouth just a little open. He was so still Bruce had to watch for the shift of his chest to even know he was breathing. Then he spoke. "Chinese food. Tasha always gets me Chinese food when I'm hurt."

"Sounds good," Bruce pulled up the menu of Tony's preferred restaurant. "Do you know what you want?"

"Lemme look," Clint shifted closer, opening his eyes and looking over the menu when Bruce tipped the projected screen for him to see. "Can you scroll it for me?"

"Sure," Bruce moved the menu up, slowly with a gesture, letting Clint read through it.

"Tangerine beef. That one, that sounds good right now," Clint slumped against Bruce's side and frowned. "Where do they deliver it to? I mean... does Tony give all the restaurants jet packs and have them deliver it right to the balcony? Or are we going to have to go all the way down on the elevator and then come all the way back up with the food?"

"I'll tell him the idea about the jet packs," Bruce chuckled, putting the order in. Fried rice and wontons for Tony, kung pao chicken and rice for himself, and tangerine beef for Clint. "The delivery drivers know to either leave it in the elevator and send it up or we'll let them bring it up if it's a large delivery."

"Is it weird to you, being up high?"

"What do you mean?" Bruce sent the order through, and pushed the screen away gently.

"It's harder to get away up here. This is the kind of place I'd be happy to be stuck, because I can see everywhere and anyone coming, but I didn't think you'd like it here much." Clint rested his cheek on Bruce's shoulder and sighed.

"There's always a way out of everything," Bruce rested his cheek against Clint's hair. "Being here makes me feel safe, that's the most important thing for me to stay, really."

"You're nice. You shouldn't be this nice after the shit you went through," Clint's hand found Bruce's and patted it. "It's good that you're nice though."

"I don't know," Bruce kept an eye on the screen - it would warn him when the delivery driver arrived, so he didn't want to dismiss it altogether just yet. "I don't feel so nice."

"Maybe nice is the wrong word, words are kind of losing their meaning to me right now. Gentle works too. Nat told me about you, when everything was over and done." He lifted his head, looking up at Bruce. His eyes were an odd mix, blue, green and grey, and his pupils were wide. "You really didn't want to be there, you hated it all didn't you?"

"Men with guns and uniforms make me uncomfortable, for understandable reasons I'd hope."

"And you stayed anyway. And... She said the h... the other guy recognised her and paused before Thor tackled him when I was...," his voice trailed off and he covered his eyes with his hand. "Fuck, sorry. I should shut up."

"Keep talking, it's okay. It's the only thing keeping me awake right now," Bruce shook his head. He'd gone over what he could remember of the transformation on the helicarrier in his mind repeatedly. He'd fought it, he'd tried to stop, it but pain was the one trigger he could never fight off completely if it reached certain levels. "Or we could try talking about something else if you prefer."

"We could talk about how much I hate these fucking painkillers but I think I've covered that already," Clint grumbled and curled tighter against Bruce's side. "They make me floaty and dizzy and all I want to do is ....completely out of bounds given that you and Stark are not-fucking, and apparently I'm going to talk about it anyway."

"In a couple of days it'll be manageable with regular painkillers and you won't need the opiates," Bruce slipped an arm around Clint gently. It seemed only natural, he was right there and he was warm, that was good for Bruce for the moment. "What is it you want to do?"

"Please don't make me say it."

"I can't help if I don't know what you want, Clint," Bruce prompted.

"I just want to - if you breathe a word to Stark about the fact that I said this word, I'm leaving - cuddle. With someone. Anyone." Clint growled to himself and huffed, He tried to cross his arms, then growled again when he realised he couldn't do that either. "I mean usually I'd have Tasha around but she's gone off to kick HYDRA’s ass for us. I didn't say that, by the way. Officially I have no idea about that and neither do you."

"I understand, I have no idea about HYDRA being taught a lesson by red-headed spies. If you hadn't noticed, Clint, I've already got an arm around you. Although I'm going to have to get up and get our food because it's on the way up right now," Bruce noticed the little icon flashing to let him know the delivery driver had arrived. He also had a message from Tony.

He opened it, read it - “It's okay, you can cuddle up with him. Should only be an hour or so more and I'll be able to join you." - And sent a quick reply. "Glad you don't mind. Should have asked first."

Clint hadn't noticed the messages on the screen; he was too busy eyeing the hand that had settled against his side. He looked slightly confused - maybe he really hadn't noticed that he was being held. "So we can do that? After food."

"After food," Bruce nodded and dismissed the screen. "You're going to need to let me up for now though, sorry."

"I'm gonna need a fork," Clint sat up with a forlorn expression and eyed his immobilised arm. "I can't use chopsticks while I'm both high and I can't use this arm. Just one I'd probably be able to manage it."

"I'll get you one while I'm up," he gave Clint a brief and, he hoped, reassuring squeeze before he stood up. The world tilted oddly for a moment, but righted itself - food. Yes. Now. He got to the elevator just as it pinged to announce its arrival and Bruce separated Tony's side of the order out, picked up their part and hit the button to send it to the lab floor he knew Tony would be on. "JARVIS, tell Tony his food's arrived."

He brought the box of food back to Clint, setting it on the coffee table in front of him, and then headed for the kitchen. His stomach was growling at the smell - he definitely needed to eat if that was anything to go by.

"Clint, do you want a soda?" he called, liberating cutlery from a drawer.

"Coke."

Coke was good - Tony kept coke in the fridge for his favourite mixed drink. Bruce settled for something less caffeinated - not that he had much of a problem with caffeine as long as it was in reasonable doses, but both he and Clint would hopefully be sleeping soon.

He bought the cutlery to Clint - he'd already opened the take out cartons and set Bruce's out for him - and sat to eat. Within a few bites he could already feel the relief wash over him. He'd definitely needed that. They ate in silence, and eventually when Clint tucked all of the now empty little cartons into the box they'd arrived in, Bruce dragged a couple of the couch cushions closer in order to get comfortable.

Then he offered his arms to Clint, and before he knew it he had a master assassin curled up against his chest, eyes tight shut and good arm looped around Bruce tightly, the injured side held protectively close. It was sweet, oddly. The snarky - he'd heard enough over the radio communications - master assassin who watched them all from far away as often as he could, curled against him and shuddering until Bruce gently laid a hand on his back and stroked him. "Is that better?" He asked softly.

"Mmhm." Clint nodded. Under Bruce's hand, the shudders slowly subsided and Clint's breathing slowed again. "Feel like my skin is trying to crawl off without me," he grumbled.

"I know the feeling," Bruce whispered sympathetically.

Clint looked up at him, curiously, the colours of his eyes shifting to darker tones with the angle of his head and the change of light. "You do?"

"When I come back... it hurts. Sometimes."

"I didn't know... I thought it might hurt going the other way, I never thought about coming back," Clint frowned, resting his head on Bruce's chest again. "I figured that's why the Hulk always roars when you first change; it hurts, trying to get that big after being you sized."

Bruce chuckled at the idea, and the thought that Clint had even spent any time considering such things was quite endearing. No one really aside from Tony and other scientifically-minded people had ever admitted to him that they'd thought about what the Hulk and the transformation there and back again might be like. "I don't know, I don't remember much, if anything from when I'm him. You'd have to ask him yourself."

"Sure," Clint nodded just once and yawned. "I'll say ‘Hey big green guy, does it hurt when you come out?’ and he'll flatten me."

"Nah. You're one of his friends, he won't mind so much."

"That's nice," Clint's voice was getting more distant and careless now. "You're nice."

"Thank you, Clint," Bruce ran his fingers lightly through Clint's hair and closed his eyes too. He was warm, comfortable and comforted, and he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

 

 

  
The couch shifted enough to disturb Bruce. He opened his eyes groggily, looking for the source of that disturbance, and was greeted with the familiar glow of the arc reactor behind another band tee shirt.

"Shhh, it's just me," Tony's voice was right at his ear, he could smell Tony's cologne and feel the rasp of Tony's beard against his cheek when the soft kiss was pressed against his temple. "You fell asleep in your glasses, let me take them off."

"Mmhm," was all Bruce could respond at first. He held still as Tony coaxed the glasses off him and set them down somewhere to the side. He suspected the coffee table from the sound the metal frames made on the glass. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just finished running the tests - nothing to worry about, just a few neurochemical inhibitors on top of the adrenal one that are leaving you groggy. Should be fine in a day or two if my tests are anything to go by."

Bruce looked at Tony. He was too close to see clearly, but he could hear the relief in Tony's voice. Then there was a blanket being drawn around him, an arm looping around him to hold him close. Clint was still pillowed on his chest, a comforting and reassuring weight, and his breathing had remained steady. For him to sleep through Tony's arrival meant he either trusted them or he was too drugged and exhausted to care, "Thank you," Bruce smiled, offering Tony his hand.

"Any time," Tony kissed his temple again and settled a hand on Clint's back, cuddling as close as he possibly could and tangling his fingers with that offered hand. "Go back to sleep, Bruce. We can keep the little bird as long as he needs company; he's kind of sweet. Especially when he's on the good drugs, but even before. He wouldn't leave you because he promised."

"Givin' away all my secrets," Clint grumbled, shifting just enough to let his head rest a little higher, just on Bruce's shoulder. Just enough that Bruce could pull the blanket a little higher and still give Clint room to breathe. "Shut up, Stark, people're tryin' to sleep."

Tony laughed softly. "That's me told. Shutting up now," he curled against Bruce too, huddling under the blanket and closing his eyes. Bruce had to admit, he felt very lucky, not to mention comfortable with the two of them there. "Don't worry me like that again," he demanded finally, before his breathing fell into the soft, even rhythm that Bruce found familiar.

Between Tony's presence at his side, and Clint curled against him so tightly, Bruce couldn't move. He didn't feel trapped, just warm, comfortable and content.

He didn't know how it could get any better.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this fic, I have a lot of requests I'm trying to work on and the advent fic, but I may have to revisit this just because it's so much fun.


End file.
